‘Tul?’ Rachel called, as she pushed open the heavy bathroom door. It was one of those trendy bathrooms with large hexagonal tiles and wood and pink marble. Tully’s handbag sat on the counter. Only one stall was occupied, and Tully’s nude flats were visible at the bottom. ‘It’s me.’

The toilet flushed and then the door to the cubicle swung open to reveal Tully’s tear-stained, frazzled face. ‘I’m not coping, Rachel.’

‘I can see that.’

‘The thoughts.’ Tully’s eyes were closed tight and she was pressing her fingers to her temples as if she had a terrible migraine. ‘They’re in my head. I can’t get them out.’

This wasn’t good. ‘Thoughts?’ Rachel said. ‘You mean like when you were a kid?’

‘No! Thoughts about Dad and Heather . . . you know . . . doing it.’

‘Oh! Right.’

‘It’s horrific. Sex is weird enough without imagining your Dad doing it, right?’

Rachel was still trying to think of an appropriate response when Tully jumped in.

‘Oh. Well, take my word for it.’

‘Anyway,’ Rachel said, ‘just take a deep breath and banish those thoughts from your head. I’ll . . . do the same.’

‘Okay,’ Tully said, inhaling slowly. She looked relaxed for a quarter of a second before her expression became intense again. ‘So what do you think of her? Tell me everything, every single thought in your head.’

‘Well –’

‘I just can’t believe she’s so young!’ Tully cried. ‘I mean, we knew she was young. But I must have been in denial. I mean . . . why would he go for someone so young? She’s not even very pretty. There’s no way she’s into Dad for the right reasons. She must want money or status or something. But even that I don’t get. She’s pretty enough. Why not find a rich young doctor?’

‘Hang on, is she pretty or not?’

Tully started pacing. ‘Look, I get it – who doesn’t want money? Her parents are dead, and presumably they left her with nothing. And life is hard on the breadline; believe me, I know.’

Tully didn’t know. She lived in one of the nicest neighbourhoods of Melbourne in a mansion with a library and a cinema room. Sonny was a criminal barrister and Tully hadn’t worked a day since Locky was born, if you didn’t count charity dinners (and Rachel didn’t). Rachel didn’t begrudge her any of it, until she started talking about her deep understanding of the breadline.

‘But setting your sights on an old man isn’t right,’ Tully finished. ‘It’s immoral!’

Rachel waited a full five seconds before attempting to respond. Still, the moment she opened her mouth, Tully started talking again. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying. I miss Mum.’

‘Me too.’

Tully sighed sadly. ‘It’s just . . . the moments of lucidity are so rare these days . . . and so short. And I feel like we’re betraying her by having lunch with Heather. What would she think if she knew we were sitting here, breaking bread with her replacement?’